


to dream about a life (where you're the shining star)

by ProbablyVoldemort



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Camp Rock, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Grounder Bellamy Blake, Grounder Culture, M/M, Male Cinderella, but crack, yes you're reading these tags correctly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProbablyVoldemort/pseuds/ProbablyVoldemort
Summary: Bellamy has been dreaming about going to the coalition's annual Camp Rock since he was a kid.  The chance to escape his life and his step-father and spend his days travelling between clans and singing.  This year, he finally has a chance to go--as a chef.Murphy hated what came of Clarke's treaty with the Grounders, but even he knew it could've been worse.  But that didn't mean he wanted to spend his time performing for the people who had kidnapped and tortured him.  He could do it, though.  He could sing at whatever the fuck Camp Rock was, and he could help pick whichever winner the Grounders wanted him to pick.  He could play nice.  That didn't mean he had to like it.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23
Collections: Chopped Madness





	to dream about a life (where you're the shining star)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey hey Party People!
> 
> We are here with another round of Chopped! This round we have fics fighting to the death until one fic is crowned the winner!
> 
> Yes, you read the tags right. This is a canonverse Camp Rock Cinderella Murphamy fic. You are not hallucinating. What you are reading is, in fact, correct.
> 
> This round is:  
> \- Canonverse!  
> \- Bellamy Centric!  
> \- Based on a Fairy Tale! (Cinderella)  
> \- Good Guy as a Bad Guy or Bad Guy as a Good Guy! (Harper and Kane as bad guys)
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy the hot mess that this fic is because it's a real hot mess but I like it. Also I completely forgot about Octavia while writing this, which is why she only appears in a couple lines about why she doesn't appear anywhere else.
> 
> Bon Appetit!

Bellamy had long since concluded that life was weird.

The people on top were warriors. Trikru was usually at war with someone or another, so that at least made sense.

It was the high status of performers, of singers and musicians that travelled between clans and performed for the masses that was where things got weird.

It didn’t make sense, but that didn’t stop Bellamy from dreaming that maybe one day he’d finally get to pursue his dream and spend his days singing.

But, alas, it was a dream that was not meant to be.

“Bellamy! Bellamy!”

He sighed, pushing to his feet and cracking his back as he stood. He wiped his dirty hands off on his almost just as dirty pants and wandered from the garden to the house in search of the banshee screaming his name.

“There you are,” Harper huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She was seated in the kitchen, her feet propped up on the table, and wrinkled her nose as he came in. “Why are you covered in dirt?” Bellamy opened his mouth to answer, and she waved him off. “It doesn’t matter. Have you finished packing my things yet?”

Bellamy sighed. “Not yet,” he said. “I was making breakfast first.”

Harper huffed. “You should have had my things packed days ago,” she pointed out, which wasn’t true. They weren’t leaving until tomorrow. Technically he didn’t need to have her things packed until then, a feat which would be made easier if his step-sister didn’t keep unpacking what he’d already packed.

“I’ll get it done.” Bellamy sighed and moved towards the counter, chopping up the vegetables he’d gathered from the garden.

“I can’t wait to be back at Camp Rock,” Harper declared. “Bellamy, did you hear Cosmos is coming this year as the guest judges?”

“Yep.” From Harper. Approximately three hundred times.

Harper sighed loudly and dramatically, and Bellamy grit his teeth and chopped another carrot. “Wouldn’t it be _amazing_ if I was chosen as a winner, Bellamy?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. A miracle would be more like it, with a singing voice like hers, but Bellamy would not complain if she was taken away to become famous if that meant he never had to see her again.

“It’s a shame you can’t go,” Harper continued, and Bellamy grit his teeth harder. “I could always use another fan.”

Maybe this was his chance. 

“I could go,” he said, turning around and hoping his hope didn’t show on his face. “You could talk to your dad. He could get me in.”

Harper laughed, cruel and wicked, and Bellamy’s heart sunk. “Like he would ever let someone like you into Camp Rock,” she sneered. “You have to be able to sing. You’d just embarrass yourself.”

“Nonsense, Harper.” Bellamy spun back around, hurriedly finishing chopping the vegetables as his step-father came into the room. “If Bellamy wants to come with us to Camp Rock this year, he’s welcome to.” Bellamy’s heart stopped for a moment, but all it took was one glance at Marcus’s cruel smirk to dash that hope once more. “We could always use another cook.”

It wasn’t ideal. It was far from it. The help at Camp didn’t compete, didn’t get the chance to better their lives and escape the family that their dead mother had left them with.

But he’d be there, and maybe that would be enough for him to find a way.

“Really?” he asked, ignoring Harper’s laughter. “I could go?”

“We have no use for you here alone.” Marcus waved a dismissive hand, sinking down at the table. “Might as well get some work out of you.”

Bellamy turned back to the vegetables, hiding his smile.

“Thank you.”

Once upon a time, Bellamy’s life had been happy. He’d lived with his mom and they hadn’t been the best off, but they’d had each other. They’d been happy.

He was five when his mom fell in love with Marcus, a high ranking TonDC warrior and the leader of Trikru’s annual Camp Rock. Marcus had a daughter his age, and things should have been perfect.

He was seven when Octavia was born and his mom died, when everything went to shit.

Since then, he’d been more of a servant than a brother, living in the house but taking orders from Marcus and Harper and Octavia. He hadn’t been allowed to train more than the standard basics, and he was laughed at any time he asked about Camp Rock, so he was left without any way of getting out of this life and into a better one.

When Octavia had still been around, things had been better. She’s liked him, treated him as a brother. But now she was off in Polis training as a second, and he barely saw her anymore.

So he was left with Marcus and Harper.

But maybe, just maybe, his luck was about to change.

“I don’t get why we have to fucking do this.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, and Murphy hunched over further in the carriage—they were travelling in a fucking carriage. Who were they? Eighteenth century royalty?

“You know why we have to do this,” she pointed out, which, yeah, he did. Didn’t mean he wanted to, though. “You think I wouldn’t rather be back leading the camp than performing for people who’ve tried to kill us?”

He didn’t think that. Clarke had tried everything she could to get out of this, and it hadn’t worked, so camp was being led by Wells fucking Jaha and they were off performing like circus monkeys.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he shot back, and Clarke sighed again.

“I like it,” Miller pointed out, rather unhelpfully. “Or do none of you eat at any of these performances? Way better than anything we’d get at home.”

Murphy ignored him. “Do you know where we’re going this time?” It was rhetorical. Of course they knew. “Trikru. Just outside TonDC, apparently. Does anyone remember what TonDC means?” Clarke shook her head and Miller shrugged. “Hmm. Course not. Because why would anyone care that we’re being sent to where they kidnapped me to and spent weeks torturing me?” He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Do you think my torturers will be there? Do you think they remember me, or do you think they torture so many people that we all look the same?”

Neither of his companions-turned-bandmates answered him, neither could look him in the eye, so he huffed and collapsed against his seat.

This whole thing was bullshit. The whole treaty was bullshit. Who the fuck agrees on a truce but only if they can hold auditions and steal the three most talented to be part of their travelling performance? Who takes someone they stole from a hunting party and spent weeks torturing and then forces them to perform for their captors so their people get to live?

Bullshit.

“None of us like this,” Clarke said a bit later, softer than her earlier arguments, and Murphy rolled his eyes. “But we have to play their game to survive. It could be a lot worse.”

Murphy sighed. He would play their game as long as they wanted him to, if it meant he’d survive another day.

“It’s still bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed.

Camp Rock was everything Bellamy had always hoped it would be and more. There were the little cabins, just big enough for a few people to sleep in, the colourful streamers and lights hanging from the trees, the huge stage set up by the lake.

It was like almost like walking into a dream.

“Let’s go,” Harper snapped, starting off in the direction of one of the cabins. “My cabin needs to be cleaned before you can start putting my things away.”

Almost like a dream, if he could ignore his step-family’s presence.

Harper actually seemed satisfied by the state of her cabin, shocking despite Bellamy’s assumptions that someone probably cleaned them out before anyone arrived, so he quickly unpacked her stuff into a small dresser while his step-sister gossiped with her cabinmates.

And then he was waved off and sent to find the kitchens, more than ready for some peace and quiet.

He was hurrying because he was probably late for whatever Marcus had told the kitchens, so he was running, not watching where he was going.

It was inevitable that he would crash into someone.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. It’s my fault.” 

He held out a hand, grimacing as he looked around to make sure Marcus or Harper hadn’t seen. He didn’t know what they’d do if they were around, watching him knock over unsuspecting people who actually “deserved” to be there. But the only people paying any attention were the blonde girl and the guy in the beanie that Bellamy assumed to be friends of the guy he’d bowled over.

The guy on the ground rolled his eyes as he took the offered hand, and Bellamy pulled him to his feet.

“Do you just run people over, or do you torture them, too?” he asked, dry and blank-faced as he dusted off his leather jacket, and Bellamy stared at him, lost as to what he was supposed to answer that.

The girl saved him from answering by smacking the guy up the side of the head. “Shut up, Murphy,” she told him as he rubbed his head, and then turned to Bellamy. “Ignore him.”

“That’s what we do,” the guy in the beanie added, and Bellamy snorted at the look of betrayal on the other guy—Murphy’s—face.

“Maybe you can help us,” the girl said, recapturing Bellamy’s attention. “We’re looking for Marcus kom Trikru. Do you know where we could find him?”

Bellamy’s gut dropped, as it usually did at the mention of his step-father. “I don’t know where he is,” he admitted. “Maybe I can find someone who can—”

“I’m right here.”

A chill spread down Bellamy’s spine as a hand rested on his shoulder, but he kept the shudder to himself. He turned his face towards Marcus, who was watching them with a wide grin that was almost convincingly real.

“Aren’t you needed somewhere?” his step-father asked, a warning Bellamy was fairly certain only he could hear ringing in the words.

“I was on my way,” he said, already hurrying off again. “Sorry.”

He made it a few feet before someone called out and he turned on instinct.

“Come find us later!” Murphy called, and Bellamy forced a grin and a wave like he would actually fulfill the request.

He wanted to find them later. The group of them had seemed a little weird, but Bellamy assumed he’d probably seemed a little weird too. He didn’t get out much, met people from other villages or clans even less. They were probably normal, and he wouldn’t have minded getting to know them. He wouldn’t have minded having friends.

But any chance he might have had at getting to know them had disappeared the second Marcus had heard the request.

He brushed off the meeting as he hurried into the building that housed the kitchens, praying that no one would notice him sneaking in.

“You’re late!”

He cursed internally. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

He turned towards the voice, hoping he looked ashamed of his lateness enough for him to be let off with a warning.

He shouldn’t have worried though, because the person who had called out his lateness was a grinning, scrawny looking guy who was probably a few years younger than him.

“I don’t care,” he said, and Bellamy let himself relax. “Don’t tell anyone, but I was late, too.”

Bellamy laughed, a rare sound, and returned the guy’s grin. “Secret’s safe with me.” He held out a hand. “Bellamy.”

“Jasper.” The guy shook his hand, and then led him on what he proclaimed to be the grand tour of the kitchen until someone snapped at them to get back to their station.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, Bellamy thought as he chopped vegetables. He and Jasper were on salad duty, which wasn’t particularly difficult, and Jasper seemed cool enough. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about Murphy and his friends though. There was something different about him, about them, than anyone Bellamy had met before. Murphy in particular was intriguing, and Bellamy wished that Marcus hadn’t overheard him inviting him to find them later. Not that he would have had the chance, but he could have hoped.

“You gonna sing at all?” Jasper asked as they chopped their way through enough carrots to feed an army. “They usually let us go to the Reaper Rave in a few days. Technically we’re not supposed to sing, but everyone’s dressed up and you can’t tell who anyone is.”

Bellamy glanced over at his new friend, contemplating it. He could sing. No one would know it was him, and maybe someone from Cosmos would like his voice enough to pick him as a winner, to sweep him away to Polis and onto a tour through the coalition.

He pushed the dream aside. Like there was any way Marcus would let him anywhere near the Reaper Rave, the event at which the guest judges each made their choice on which lucky people got to spend the next year touring with them and the chance at their own stardom. Like Marcus would let him anywhere near a chance to get free.

“Maybe,” he told Jasper. “Are you?”

Jasper barked out a laugh, bumping their shoulders together. “I have been banned from singing,” he declared, like being banned from something was the highest honour he could hold. “My voice is too amazing for these mortals to handle.”

Gaia, one of the sous chefs, rolled her eyes as she passed with a large pot. “Don’t listen to him,” she said. “He’s completely tone deaf.”

Jasper waved her off. “It’s a choice,” he told Bellamy. “If I wanted to sing like everyone else, I could.”

“Sure,” he agreed, laughing.

Murphy hated every bit of this thing. They had to lead classes on singing and dancing, which made zero sense since he knew nothing about singing nor dancing, but the Grounders had apparently decided that since he’d passed their test for perfect pitch or whatever that he was now an authority on the matter.

The food was good, though. Miller was right on that point.

He hadn’t seen the guy from their first day since, though, and that was disappointing. He was hot, and Murphy wasn’t above using his new celebrity status to hook up with people at their tour stops. The clumsy hot guy would probably jump at the chance to at least make out with him.

But he’d been looking, and he hadn’t so much as seen him in passing. Maybe it was the crowds that had been swarming him and his bandmates since their identities as Cosmos got out, but he was sure he would’ve at least noticed him.

He was heading to the kitchen to find something to snack on between meals, but he changd direction when he spotted that truly awful blonde girl that wouldn’t leave him alone—Heather? Hannah?—heading in there, so he sighed instead and headed off in the direction of his next class.

He couldn’t wait for this to be over.

“What are you wearing to the Rave tomorrow?” Jasper asked as they chopped vegetables. “Because we have to coordinate, but if we match, then we won’t be able to pick anyone up.”

Bellamy shook his head. “I don’t think I can go,” he said. “There’s no way I’ll be allowed.”

“Allowed to do what?”

Bellamy flinched and turned towards the doorway. “Nothing,” he told Harper, who was leaning just inside the kitchen, picking at her nails with a hunting knife, at the same time as Jasper said, “Go to the Reaper Rave.”

Bellamy elbowed his friend as his step-sister laughed.

“Right,” she agreed, flipping her hair. “Like Dad would ever let you go to the Rave.” She turned around, heading back for the door, and Bellamy wondered for a moment why she’d even come into the kitchen at all. But then she paused. “I need you to come to my room after you’re done here. My outfit for the Rave needs to be completely redone.”

“Of course,” he said, and then she was gone.

“Don’t let them tell you not to go,” Jasper suggested, a hopeful look in his eye, but Bellamy shook his head.

“She’s right,” he said. “There’s no way Marcus will let me go.”

He was right about that. Marcus found him when he was in Harper’s cabin, listening to her demands on the complete overhaul of her Rave costume, and Harper laughed as she relayed his dream.

“Isn’t that ridiculous?” she said, smirking at him. “Like someone like him would ever fit in there.”

Bellamy felt his face burn as he focused on pinning up Harper’s costume in the dim candlelight of the cabin. Jasper and his big mouth. Why couldn’t he have kept quiet? Then he might’ve had a chance at sneaking into the Rave. Now there was none.

“I don’t know, Harper,” Marcus said, and Bellamy risked a glance at his step-father. The way he was smiling made something sink in Bellamy’s gut. “I think Bellamy should have a chance to go.”

“What?” Harper screeched, and Bellamy had to jerk his hand to avoid stabbing her with a pin. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s completely fair,” Marcus countered, in a way that made Bellamy think that whatever was coming from his mouth next would be the opposite of fair. “Granted he finishes prepping for the Last Feast and finishes your outfit.”

There it was. The dashing of any chance he had. His fate was in Harper’s hands, and there wasn’t a worse place it could be.

Harper was laughing then, and Bellamy went back to pinning.

“Don’t you think that’s fair, Bellamy?” Marcus asked, and Bellamy swallowed, turning his gaze back to his step-father.

“Very fair,” he agreed, already calculating how little sleep he could survive off of in order to get everything done. If he could just get to the Rave, he had a shot of getting out of this.

Marcus turned to leave, and Harper twisted to smirk at him.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she decided. “We need to start all this again.

It was almost nine o’clock, almost time for the Rave, and Bellamy was finally finished.

Harper had him spend half the day tweaking her outfit. There was more prep for the next night’s feast than Bellamy could have imagined, but he did it.

He finished everything.

He laughed and exchanged a high five with Jasper, letting himself hope for the first time that maybe this wouldn’t be a dream, maybe he’d finally have a chance to escape.

And then Marcus and Harper appeared in the kitchen, their Rave clothes on, hair done up, and faces painted bright colours.

“I finished everything,” he said, still clinging to the hope that they’d let him go.

Harper snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Really?” she said, her eyes darting up and down his body. “And is that what you’re wearing?”

Bellamy’s heart sunk as he glanced down at his clothes, the drab greys and greens that Trikru wore every day. It was nothing like the bright costumes Harper and Marcus were wearing.

“You can’t expect me to allow you to go dressed like that,” Marcus said, and Bellamy closed his eyes, mourning the loss of the freedom that had been so close. “You’ll be staying in your cabin tonight. I’ll be there to make sure you’ve listened at midnight.”

He left the vague threat hang in the air, and then he was leaving, Harper smirking at him as she followed.

Bellamy deflated, hanging his head in his hands. How could he have been so stupid to trust that they’d let him go?

“What are you doing?” Jasper asked, and Bellamy lifted his head, frowning at him. “We’re gonna be late.”

“I can’t go,” Bellamy pointed out. “Remember?”

Jasper grinned, pulling a bag out from under the counter. “Because you don’t have anything to wear,” he said, and then started pulling things from the bag, pieces of brightly coloured clothing. “Luckily you have a great best friend who asked around for spare costume parts.”

Bellamy’s heart stopped as he grabbed something that was red and probably a shirt. “Are you serious?” he asked, and Jasper grinned wider.

“Just make sure you’re back by midnight,” he said, and Bellamy laughed, throwing his arms around his friend.

Murphy hated the Rave more than anything else that had happened. He had to sit at a table with Clarke and Miller, listen to any Grounders who wanted to suck up, and pay attention to some truly awful performances. There was paint on his face and gel in his hair and those sucked, too.

Watching the fights break out at the line next to the stage was the only part of this thing he was enjoying. And the alcohol. There was a lot of alcohol, and he was fully planning on not remembering any of this tomorrow.

He pushed away from the table, telling his friends he needed a minute, and wandered through the crowd towards the edge of the forest, hoping to finally get a few minutes to himself.

“I can’t fight to sing,” Bellamy told Jasper, frowning as they watched Harper stab someone in the stomach and then push her way up the steps to the stage, grinning even with the knife sticking out of her shoulder. “I can’t do this.”

Jasper shook his head, his spiked hair flying. “You just need to believe in yourself,” he declared.

Bellamy sighed, and glanced towards the forest. “I need some air,” he said, and Jasper waved him off, saying he’d find them another drink.

It took some pushing and shoving, but then he was finally breaking the treeline. It was quieter in the woods, and he wandered for a bit.

“Can’t a guy get a little privacy anywhere?” someone snapped, and Bellamy jumped, turning to look at the person he’d interrupted.

“Sorry,” he said, ready to turn and leave, but then he paused, the guy’s eyes triggering something in his mind. “You’re Murphy, right? I ran you over a few days ago.”

The guy’s scowl turned into a grin, and he pushed away from the tree he was leaning against to cross the clearing towards him. “You never found me.”

Bellamy shrugged. “I just did.”

Murphy laughed, and Bellamy grinned. He liked his laugh. He liked that he wasn’t the only one who wanted to escape the crowds.

“I guess I don’t need complete privacy,” he hedged, and Bellamy grinned, accepting the moonshine he offered.

Murphy was everything Bellamy dreamed he was, in the daydreams he’d had while chopping vegetables. He was sarcastic and he was funny and there was just something about him that was _different_ , in the absolute best way.

He had no idea how long they sat there, how long it took until they were leaning against each other, their touch lingering as they passed the moonshine back and forth.

“I’ve never heard you sing,” Murphy pointed out at one point, raising an eyebrow like that was something that should be fixed immediately. “Sing!”

Bellamy snorted, shaking his head. “I have to sing for _Cosmos_ ,” he said. “I can’t sing for you.”

Murphy’s face scrunched up for a moment, and then relaxed, some sort of revelation coming over him. “You don’t know…” He cut himself off, and Bellamy was too focused on his lips to wonder where that sentence had been going. “Sing.”

Bellamy would much rather kiss, and told him as much.

Murphy laughed, leaned in and pecked a quick kiss on his lips, more than Bellamy had had in years. 

He wanted more.

“You get more after you sing.” Murphy’s smirk was different than Harper’s, softer, teasing.

Bellamy sighed and started singing, the song he’d been working on for years, the one he’d finally almost completed in the last few days.

He stopped after the chorus, because Murphy was only staring at him, and chuckled nervously.

“That was,” Murphy started, and then cut himself off by kissing him again, digging a hand into his hair and ruining the spikes Jasper had made, smoothing them back into curls.

It was amazing. It was something Bellamy never wanted to stop.

But then lights were flashing behind his eyes, and he opened them to see the firework show starting.

The fireworks show that started at quarter to midnight.

“I have to go!” He jumped to his feet, pulling away from Murphy and his lips and his hands and—“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“What?” Murphy scrambled to his feet, grabbing his arm. “No. Why?”

Bellamy swallowed, shaking his head and pulling out of Murphy’s grip. “I haven’t sung for Cosmos yet,” he said, which was true. “They can’t hear me from here. I have to go.”

He turned and started for the forest.

“Wait—”

“It was really nice meeting you,” he said, turning back to Murphy for a moment. “I hope I’ll see you around.”

And then he was running back through the woods, back towards his cabin.

He made it, somehow, Marcus bursting through the door mere moments after he’d changed and washed the paint off his face.

He hoped he’d see Murphy again. He’d missed his chance with Cosmos, but if he got Murphy out of this, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Murphy was left in the woods, staring after the man with the voice of an angel—whose name he’d never asked.

Bellamy spent the next day organizing the feast, getting everything cooked and plated and ready to go. He set up the tables, long rows with one for Cosmos and their winners to sit at up on the stage. He was working there tonight, they needed more hands on the floor than in the kitchen, so maybe he’d get one more chance.

He couldn’t bring himself to care too much, though. He was hoping more that he’d see Murphy again, that maybe he could convince Murphy to bring him back to whichever village he came from, to get him to be his ticket to freedom.

Because he’d lost his chance with Cosmos. While he’d been off with Murphy, the band had each picked their winners. Jasper had been interrogating him all day about where he’d been, and Bellamy was less disappointed about missing out on Cosmos than he’d expected to be.

Murphy was now his only shot at freedom. Being stuck working the party at least gave him a great chance of running into him.

He was in the kitchen reloading his tray when Jasper came running in, eyes wide.

“Someone from Cosmos hasn’t picked a winner,” he said, tossing his tray down to be reloaded. “He didn’t get the guy’s name. Everyone’s having a chance to sing. This is your chance.”

Bellamy took a moment to glance at the rest of the kitchen staff before sprinting out towards the feast.

Only to be stopped by Marcus.

“If you even think about singing,” he started, scowling down at him.

Bellamy stared down his step-father for a long moment before gathering his courage and pushing past, continuing his run.

It was a madhouse. People were being maimed. Blood was everywhere.

But it was almost eerily quiet aside from one voice, a voice that kept changing to another as whatever Cosmos member who couldn’t make up his mind kept dismissing singers.

Bellamy glanced over his shoulder, at Marcus approaching. He met Harper’s eye in the crowd, the blood on her face as she sliced at her competition.

And then he was looking out across the crowd at Cosmos on their high table far enough away that he couldn’t quite make them out.

And he started singing.

He sang through the beginning of his song, gaining confidence with every word. He grinned, throwing his arms wide, and climbing onto a table as he hit the chorus, belting out the lyrics.

_“This is real! This is me! I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be! Gonna let the light shine on me! Now I’ve found who I am, there’s no way to hold it in. No more hiding who I wanna be. This is me.”_

He continued to sing, walking his way down the long table and not caring that his ankles were in prime stabbing conditions.

Even if Cosmos didn’t think he was worth it, this moment was.

For a moment, he was free.

Murphy had spent the day irritable and cranky, strumming at his guitar and trying to work out the melody that was eating at his brain. Marcus wanted names. He wanted to know the winners.

But Murphy was an idiot who hadn’t thought to ask for a name.

He’d been writing, too, in his head as he played his guitar. He’d never written music before. They wanted him to, but he’d refused. They were already getting his voice and his body. Why would he give them his words, too?

But this guy, this guy with his amazing voice and his soft lips, Murphy would give him his words and anything more if he asked.

Clarke had been the one to suggest the sing-off and Murphy supposed it was good enough. It was easier than trying to look at every single person’s face.

Now, though, he was only half paying attention. None of them were the guy from last night. He didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t find him, didn’t care who was picked as his winner.

He didn’t even notice that the last song had died out in favour of one so faint he could barely hear it, not until the chorus began, and his head snapped up as he stared out at the man standing on one of the tables.

“That’s the song,” he said, not quite realizing he spoke.

“Then that must be the guy,” Clarke deduced.

“You think?” Miller laughed.

Murphy barely noticed himself standing as he watched, barely noticed himself moving to the edge of the stage. The guy had reached another chorus and seemed to be working up to a finale, a grin on his face as he moved across peoples’ now-ruined dinners, spinning with his arms out.

 _“This is me,”_ he sang, chest heaving as he finished, but Murphy couldn’t let that be the end. He couldn’t lose him again.

So he sang, for the first time ever delivering his own lyrics instead of the ones they forced out of Clarke or wrote for him.

He sang like his life depended on it, because, in the hours he’d spent with him last night, he’d started to think that maybe his life having any meaning depended on a man whose name he didn’t even know.

So he sang.

Bellamy finished his song, standing on the table in one last moment of bliss before the consequences of his actions hit.

 _“You’re the voice I hear inside my head, the reason that I’m singing._ ”

His head snapped up towards the stage. He knew that voice. He’d spent hours basking in that voice the night before.

Murphy grinned at him from the stage, where only the members of Cosmos and their winners sat.

The members of Cosmos: a blonde girl and a guy in a beanie.

And Murphy.

 _“I need to find you_ ,” Murphy sang, and Bellamy couldn’t move. _“I’ve gotta find you!”_

He jumped off the stage and the crowd parted around him like a god.

 _“You’re the missing piece I need, the song inside of me._ ”

Bellamy grinned back and joined him for the next line, continuing down the line of tables.

 _“I need to find you.”_ Murphy jumped up on the other end, starting towards him. _“I gotta find you!”_

He transitioned back into his own chorus, Murphy joining in like he’d known them all his life. He sang, his eyes trained on Murphy’s as they moved closer and closer on the tables, everything else fading out.

 _“This is me_ ,” he finished softly, only for Murphy.

He didn’t know who leaned in first, but then he was kissing Murphy, something he never wanted to stop doing.

He chased Murphy’s lips when he pulled away all too soon.

“I never got your name,” he said, and Bellamy laughed.

“Bellamy.”

“Well, Bellamy.” Murphy grinned at him, stepping somehow even closer. “Wanna to go on tour with Cosmos?”

Bellamy imagined how Harper was somewhere in the crowd, already complaining about how unfair this was. He could picture the look on Marcus’s face, the rage at disrespecting his direct order not to sing.

He grinned at Murphy and kissed him again, because that was the only answer there was.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed your serving of crack with a side of hot mess. If you want to see more fics like this, you should vote me through to the next round.
> 
> Make sure you check out the rest of the fics in this collection!
> 
> I will love you forever if you comment or kudos!
> 
> See y'all next time!


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